Tuesday, February 19, 2013

February...

Groundhog Day came and went but I can’t recall the resulting
prediction. It can’t matter too much ‘cause us northern Minnesota folks put no
stock into what a pen-raised Pennsylvania woodchuck has to say, anyway. Don’t
get me wrong, I’m not putting down good old PA – I have some very good friends
out there, I know there are some awesome bird dogs there and I’d love to fish
some of those fabled trout streams. It’s just that I’m thinkin’ that brown fur
ball with the unpronounceable name doesn’t have a clue how long my winter is
gonna be. I sometimes wonder if the top-hatted mayor who hoists Punxstawney
Phil into the air doesn’t maybe secret a pinch of fur into his pocket for later
use at the fly vise. Wouldn’t blame him.

Then Valentine’s Day came. I think it was something like ten
below zero that morning. No worries about melting chocolate hearts. That was
days ago and winter lingers on. There are people steelhead fishing in Michigan.
I’ve been reading about them and I envy them. It will be awhile before there’s
open water around these parts so my outdoor gear has not been fly rods, but
rather snowshoes and skis. That’s not bad, however, and I like to get out and
survey the winter woods on those soft and quiet days.

This is also the time of year that I make a little firewood
for next winter, so besides using the skis and snowshoes I also fire up the
chainsaw. I was well into it, satisfied that I’d done some real work when I was
overcome by the urge for a little recreation. A snowshoe hike seemed in order and
a quiet patrol would be a welcome contrast to a buzzing chainsaw.

There are a couple of old abandoned homesteads within a
half-hour hike from my place. Over the years I’ve watched the weather break
them down further and further and the day is coming when there will be nothing
left of them. I know only a bit of the history of them, but it’s obvious that
turning out a hardscrabble living on rocky northern Minnesota farms was a tough
proposition.

The buildings are broken and caved in, but springtime lilacs
still bloom around what’s left of the house, and I put in the lilacs around my
own yard and kennels from plantings I dug from the homestead over 20 years ago.
I’ve trapped and hunted within sight of the old places and the overgrown fields
have been important dog training grounds for me. Yesterday I was happy to find
grouse roosts in the deep snow of what was once a front yard. I can still find
the remnants of a log sauna and smokehouse with Finnish dovetailed corners that
I’d bet hung as many deer as cattle and hogs.

These old homes are kind of mysterious, I suppose, and it’s
hard to pass the impulse to explore them. You never know what there is to find;
though anything of value had disappeared long before I ever set foot on the
place. You hope you don’t stumble into an old well or startle some kind of
critter from under fallen roof poles. If you’re in the mindset you may even
wonder about any spirits still keeping tabs on their property. I’ve yet to run
into any ghosts, but one of my trails goes through the woods right past the old
house and I’ll admit it’s a little creepy at night. Still, they’re compelling locales and I have
to wonder what kind of faith and skills and toughness those men and women possessed who
made their homes and lives there. Between the two places, on a wooded knoll surrounded
by cut hayfields is a small little known private cemetery where some of the original
homesteaders rest.

I hiked on home to a warm house and flipped on
the basement light to hang my snowshoes to drip on the floor. It was a day to
be outside so I grabbed the splitting maul to finish the tree I was working on.
The fun part is dropping the trees. Blocking and splitting is… well, exercise.
I wouldn’t freeze without firewood, however; my efficient propane furnace
prevents that. But there are some trees around the place that need cutting, and
every dollar worth of propane saved is a dollar’s worth of gas for a springtime
fishing trip. Or so I tell myself. Yep,
it’s a good life.

About Me

Lucky enough to be raised by an outdoorsman father, I've been messing around with dogs, guns, fishing rods, canoes, tents, snowshoes, etc., my entire life. And it's not over yet. I like good bourbon, good books, and honest, genuine folks. Good fishing and happy hunting to you. -- Al Ranfranz